Lessons in friendship 5 - Practising to give
by PiercedBlueCat
Summary: Some Time after of HoB. Sherlock had realized before how important John's friendship is to him and the need to practise arises. Then John has a flashback Sherlock is thrown into the cold water and needs to learn how to swim fast. No First Person POV but almost entirely from Sherlock's side, except the last chapter, which features what John thinks.


**Lessons in friendship 5 - Practising to give**

_Some Time after of HoB. Sherlock had realized before how important John's friendship is to him and the need to practise arises. Then John has a flashback Sherlock is thrown into the cold water and needs to learn how to swim fast. No First Person POV but almost entirely from Sherlock's side, except the last chapter, which features what John thinks.  
Standard disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands __and no profit is being made._

___I was diagnosed with PTSD five years ago after quite an odyssey and eight years of trying to cope with it alone without knowing what I was dealing with. The last two years of that being treated by unskilled (in the field of PTSD) threapists for depression, which was more than counterproductive. Everybody experiences flashbacks and other sympthoms different and there are quite a lot.  
I don't have almost no medical knowledge, just the stuff you learn by endureing it and having to cope. _

_In case anyone is interested to know about the picture: I couldn't help myself and made my own fleece blanket a few days ago, guess what the label says... right, it says 'SHOCK BLANKET'... this is the only orange item in my household (I avoid red and pink,too) so this is quite intense having it laying around :))))_

_Many thanks to the kind souls who wrote reviews to my stories. I was quite overwhelmed with what they said __J__. Thank you so much._

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They were about to go to the crime scene with Lestrade, following him to Scotland yard cars. After inspecting the warehouse and the scene carefully - because they feared there might be more explosives - they left the building discussing what Sherlock had found… or better Sherlock informed and Lestrade listened.

They hadn't reached the cars when an earthshattering blow knocked them to the ground.

Dazed Sherlock pushed himself up from his ungraceful prone position. The blast had knocked him flat forward to the ground. His ears were ringing and he was disoriented for a few seconds at first, but unharmed. Next to him Lestrade was doing the same. He looked for John and saw him getting up in a hurry, stumbling, ducked, and almost crawling towards the cars, obviously searching for cover. Sherlock was irritated. This wasn't like the doctor, especially when there might be harmed people or even harmed friends. John hadn't even checked on any of the slow recovering people all around.

After an asking glance at Lestrade who nodded back he was ok, Sherlock hurried after his friend. John had taken cover behind one of the cars and was sitting with his back leaned against the wheel, his head hidden between his knees and his arms.

"John?" no reaction. "John? Are you hurt?" Sherlock tried. No response. He now registered John was trembling. Hearing damage? "John, look at me!"

Lestrade came around the car "Is he hurt?"

"I don't know…. John?" Sherlock knelt down next to him.

"He's in shock?"

"John? …" Sherlock scanned the trembling figure. He worked his long fingers under his sleeve and then wrapped them around his wrist. Pulse fast, skin clammy and cold. Definitely signs of shock, but he suspected something else, too.

"John? Come on, sit up…" He gently tried to shake John to make him lift his head. John was stiff.

"John! I want you to look at me!" Lestrade gently grabbed John's shoulders from above and tried to make him sit up. This caused John to start struggling. His hands tried to get rid of the attacker, knocking Sherlock down to his bottom in the process.

"John!… it's me, John!…. Don't fight." This was not good, an alarm tag started vibrating in his mind.

"Easy, it's alright." Lestrade tried.

Sherlock held onto John who was trying to get away now, desperate and not really seeing his surroundings, haunted look in his eyes. They were moving constantly like the eyes of a cornered animal. Obviously John was not seeing the same thing they were.

"It's ok, John, calm down!" Lestrade tried but didn't try to touch him again. John gave up resisting Sherlock's touch, even stopped moving at all. He just stared blindly ahead, eyes wide in horror.

"John? Speak to me!"

"No …. Sir, he's dead, Sir, couldn't help him….." John whispered. "Oh god, …."

Lestrade frowned "I'm gonna get a blanket, find out if he's bleeding." And he vanished.

"John? Talk to me!" Sherlock ordered. Possible Flashback? He needed to collect some more information.

"Yes, Sir. Center of explosion in quadrant N-4, near the camp's back entrance. Three dead, four severely injured, situation unclear."

Clearly a flashback. Sherlock moved his hand over John's back searching for any wetness or injuries, checked his legs, arms, chest… John wasn't resisting, no visible injuries.

"Are you hurt?" Sherlock asked, hoping he would be mistaken for a superior or whoever John had addressed with 'Sir'.

"Don't think so, Sir, just bruises." John's tone clearly indicated giving a report. He seemed to hear fine. But there was the possibility he answered what he had in that situation which might not be the same with this, so it was no use. Sherlock rested his hand against John's face/cheek and gripped his hand with the other. A try to give comfort, though he felt clumsy in this unknown area. Practising in public was even worse. John would be embarrassed later.

"John, everything is o.k. now, you are not in Afghanistan, you are in London…." Try to connect him to his real senses input and disconnect the input of the memory. Sherlock doubted someone had touched him that way back then and hoped they would have none watching, especially not Anderson.

"What is happening here, Sherlock?" Lestrade was back.

"Why don't you just observe and think?… He's having a flashback!.. Quite obvious I'd say…." His tone was fierce.

"Flashback?… What…?"

"His mind is in a warzone somewhere… Gimme that blanket!" he reached for it and started wrapping it around John inexpertly. Lestrade helped.

"No!.. I'm fine, take care of the Corporal, he's hi'n the back." John tried to get rid of their hands.

"We need to get him to the hospital, he might be in shock."

"He already is … kind of…. and a hospital is the last thing he needs right now. He needs calm and safe and comfort." Sherlock explained.

"And you think you are able to give that?" Lestrade raised his eyebrows. "Come on, Sherlock you are not even able to treat him like a friend…. Have you ever even looked up _comfort_ in a dictionary?…. not your type of thing, I guess." His voice was not insulting, just stating the facts.

"He's bleeding out fast, I need a gurney…." John tried to get up.

"Stay put, John …. Everything is under control…. Just sit down." Sherlock held him by the shoulders.

"Bloody hell, he's dying!" John yelled and grew more agitated. Some people looked their way.

"No, the bleeding has clearly slowed down, he is not gonna die, he'll be fine…..you see, he is getting care already. Help is here. Let them work!" Sherlock tried in a low and calming voice.

"You're adding to his hallucination, I am not sure this is a good idea." Lestrade started. "Where is the damn ambulance?"

"He is not going to the hospital!" Sherlock repeated slightly angrily. John weakly fought him, mumbling.

"What do you want to do? You can't help him. He's delirious."

"No, he's not. He's reliving a moment from the war, this happens with PTSD. I need some water. You have candy… anything? He needs positive stimuli."

"What? …. He has PTSD?… Why didn't you tell me?"

"I need something tasting nice, maybe some soda?… Fast!" John struggled harder. Lestrade ran towards some of the police officers.

"John, you are not in danger. It is not necessary to fight me, calm down…. we need to solve this case." He realized this might bring himself back to reality but probably not John. Tell him something he cares about…..

"John, your blog has had another two thousand four hundred and eight visitors tonight!" he tried something he knew John cared about. No reaction other than John lifting his head to the sky and panting agitatedly. Probably not really what he needed. He didn't know what to say… he felt helpless and out of ideas. Was Lestrade right and he would only do further damage with his sentiment-problem-thing? John gulped and thrashed weakly. What soothed John?… the violin… no, him playing violin… no violin here… so other music? Where to get music? … he was probably one of the few people in the world who had no music on his phone…. Maybe John had?

"John?… Calm down, you're save… you're in London… I'm gonna take your phone…" he reached into John's jacket and took the device. John was staring with blind eyes, not resisting Sherlock's touch now. Lestrade came back.

"Now wait a minute… he has PTSD and you used him to perform a stress test on him in Baskerville…. to cause a drug induced anxiety attack… bloody hell, did you know back then?" Lestrade yelled at him.

Sherlock lowered his eyes, the events of the past month had made it more clear than ever to him what an asshole he had been and how bad he had treated John not only performing the test on him but in general. Several people had told him so… and John did, too. He had found out John didn't open up to him because he was sure Sherlock would only vandalize in his wounds. He had tried to be a better friend… but now shame crept up on him again. The fact that Sherlock didn't respond proved that Lestrade was right, to both of them. Sherlock let go of John's shivering form.

"You knew… oh, god, Sherlock…. You know this .. this is …" he seemed to struggle for words to express his anger. "… this is violation… even abuse! How could you?…." Lestrade grabbed his collar and Sherlock expected him to punch him in the face.

"I share your opinion that it was very… that it was a bad choice…" Lestrade slowed down shaking him. "In case you considering punching me.. I would deserve it. But could we please delay it until I had the change to help him in this particular matter… Seems a bit more urgent right now."

Lestrade let go of him, with a slightly repulsed expression on his face.

"God, Sherlock… god, how could you!… I wonder why he does this to himself, sometimes…."

"Does what?"

"Waste his friendship on you."

"What happened?" someone asked behind them. Sherlock saw Lestrade and a medic with a heavy bag kneel down beside them.

"He's having a flashback. PTSD. Former soldier."

"He has those often?" the medic asked, reaching for John's neck to feel his pulse. The moment he touched him John tried to get away in what could only be described as blind panic. Sherlock reacted quickly and pinned him to the car.

"Don't touch him! …. No, this is a rare event… John, come back to me." Sherlock knew the medic could do nothing, he himself was the only person who at least had some information on this here… it was his responsibility from the moment he had realized what was happening. Get a grip and remember what he had said back at the car on their way back home from Baskerville….

"Oh god, don't touch me…. Take care of Lieutenant Jones first…. Please… I'm fine."

"You got something called 'rescue remedy'?" Sherlock asked the medic, John had used that before. Was John really only allowing him to touch him? More likely it was random. But it had now happened three times that John grew agitated when someone else touched him… no, John was a doctor, he was used to being touched… and he touched patients all the time. Must be happenstance.

"Sure…. But you know this isn't a real…" The man held a small dropper bottle to him a few seconds later, already unscrewed.

"He is a doctor, he used it before… John, I need you to lean your head back and open your mouth." Sherlock started but when the medic reached out to John's head he hissed. "Don't touch him! … Come on, John."

He reached for John's head and when John didn't flinch gently bent it backwards and thumbed his mouth open a bit. He grabbed the dropper out of the bottle the medic still held in reach and let six drops fall onto John's tongue. When John still didn't fight him he decided to leave his hand at John's neck… John had touched his head when he had been hurt several times… and he remembered it felt… kind of stabilizing. John was barely moving now, just stared ahead.

He reached for John's phone with his other hand and held it out to Lestrade. "Play some music, slow, calming… maybe instrumental." Lestrade looked at him puzzled for a moment then understood he was asked to look for music on the phone.

"We don't need further assistance right now, why don't you search for someone in need?" Sherlock addressed the medic who was obviously helpless and frustrated about the fact that Sherlock wouldn't let him treat the patient.

"This man is in need of care and it's my duty to do that." He insisted.

"Give me some gloves and get out of my sight!" Sherlock's tone rose.

"Shh.. Sherlock, don't agitate him." And Lestrade was right, John started to move again.

"No…. no… oh god….." John whimpered now.

"Please leave us, I take responsibility." Lestrade addressed the medic, who threw him an unconvinced look but turned away. Obviously he had come to the conclusion this was not as new to Sherlock as it was to him… and that Sherlock at least knew what to try.

Lestrade had obviously found some music cause in the next moment _Bridge over troubled water_ came out of the phone. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at Lestrade.

"Sir?" a young female stood behind them.

"What is it, Evans?" Lestrade wanted to know.

"I found some sherbet, one of the officers had it in his car for his daughter, Sir." She seemed unsure of what to think of the situation before her eyes. "…And some water, sir."

"That's great, Evans. Thanks." Lestrade took the candy and bottle and she trotted away.

"We need to stop the bleeding, fast…. Come on…. " John mumbled.

"Good, open the stuff, what is it? Powder?"

"Looks like it… some blackcurrant stuff…. " he ripped open the package. "Yeah, powder, you're sure this is a good idea, I mean he could choke on that….."

"I won't make him choke, I only need a bit." But how to give it to him, pour it into his mouth would definitely make him choke…. Sherlock realized he hadn't thought about a delivering method…. His fingers were dirty…. Johns own fingers, too. But he couldn't think of how else to do it…

"Should I get a spatula or tongue depressor out of an first aid kit?"

"No, we're fine… open the bottle and let me wet my finger…... John, I will touch you, don't fight me." Sherlock slipped one of the gloves onto his fingers. Then returned the free hand to the side of John's face and again thumbed his mouth open an inch. He poked his finger first in the water, then in the powder Lestrade was offering. Then he touched the tip of John's tongue with a small amount of the now effervescent substance.

"John, come back…. You are in London, there was an explosion, but we are safe now, there is no war and no attack. You are safe! Come on, the weather is wet, smell the rain… and you can taste the sherbet. Do you like it?…" Sherlock tried.

"Oh god…. " John whimpered again.

"Come on, you're with me? ….. John, can you hear me?" Sherlock spoke louder now, the music still playing. The scene was kind of loony. Sherlock was glad Lestrade had not yet thought about taking pictures.

"One more…" Sherlock repeated his moves and brought some more candy powder into John's mouth.

"That's it… is it good?" Try to talk….. talking him back to reality…. nonsense is better than not talking… Add the feeling of London to the environment, so that John knew where he was. "You need to come back, now, John….. back to London. We are on a case, remember?"

John's breathing speed up and he fought Sherlock's hand, shoved it away. He tried to get up and made it to his knees before Sherlock got a good grip and held him steady on his upper arms.

"John!… Look at me…. JOHN!" he tried.

John stopped struggling and blinked… and blinked again. The look on his face was kind of stunned panic and he was holding his breath.

"Breathe John…. Easy…. Just breathe…" Sherlock lowered his head towards his, mentally preparing that John might start fighting in earnest or run out of power completely within the next minute.

"Oh god…. " John breathed… "Let me go…" he panted shallowly and Sherlock watched him closely.

"John, I think you would fall to the ground if I let go, nobody is watching, it's ok….."

When John's eyes started to fill he was quite sure that John was back with him completely and wanting to hide had led to his plea to let him go. Ok… remove things that might embarrass him now or later.

"John, sit back down….. easy… " he told the trembling doctor.

"…hnnn…." he sagged forward limply and since Sherlock was prepared he carefully pulled him towards his shoulder to prevent falling. He felt John lean heavily against him, but not falling…. and silently sobbing, still conscious then, though maybe drifting. He decided to pretend he was out would protect John's dignity probably the most, he gestured Lestrade to open the backdoor of the car that was only two feet away.

"Stay with me, John…. We will go home…. You know where you are?" John shook his head, his breath fast and shallow.

"I want you in the back of the car….Lestrade, will you drive us home?"

"Of course. I'll get you in and then give me a minute to tell Donovan." He helped to lift John backwards onto the seat. When they had him settled Lestrade handed Sherlock the still playing phone. Sherlock entered the car on the other side and Lestrade went to get an update on the explosion and inform his colleagues that he would be gone for some time.

Sherlock took John's wrist to monitor his pulse. John sat upright, jaw clenched and a slightly stoic expression on his face, like a statue.

"You're ok?…." Sherlock started, dumb question, of course he is not! "We will be home soon, relax…." John was obviously still fighting with the attack but didn't pull away his hand. His eyes showed awareness and slight disorientation.

"Do you hurt anywhere?" Sherlock's eyes examined him. Still trembling, still very pale, sweaty….

"Any nausea?" Sherlock asked. John shook his head.

"More sugar?" Sherlock tried. Another headshake.

"What do you need me to do?"

"I don't know… All I know is I … just relived two of my unit's men bleed to death… missing vital parts of their bodies…. God… shit…." He panted, his voice was hoarse.

"What's happening, John?"

"Leave me alone, please…."

"No. Tell me what the problem is."

"Dammit… Guess there's a panic attack ahead…. I shouldn't have told you… triggered myself…. Just stop bothering me, would you. Keep your curiosity at bay for a moment, would you?" he unbuckled again and leaned forward, until his head rested against his knees. He wrapped his arms around his head, trying to control his breathing.

Keep him present, try to distract him, try to comfort him….. he felt helpless, the information was there but he had no idea now how to execute the things he wanted to do. He realized he was also afraid to do something wrong… afraid?… this was affecting him more than he had ever thought possible. He was worried, really worried…. Because he couldn't help, because it was an uneasy unhealthy yellow feeling to see John suffering…. He raised his hand but hesitated, then slowly placed it on Johns upper back, just rested it there, that might be comforting…. He reached for the phone again, found the music and started another song in a low volume, Ok, distraction. It started to rain outside and the raindrops grew slowly louder on the car's roof…. As did John's breathing.

"John, I want to help, tell me what to do…."

"I ….don't know…"

He's starting to hyperventilate. Sherlock felt his own panic rise… yeah, he had learned how that felt in Baskerville…. and was so stupid confronting John with the same thing…. He was helpless. This was also a pretty ugly feeling he realized, darker yellow, dotted with sick white spots and a vague image of the smell of rancid butter…. He hadn't felt helpless to often in his life before…. He always thought he'd just known what to do in every possible situation…. what was different now?… right… caring, sentiment… but this strain of thoughts wasn't helping at all right now, store away for later. He unbuckled, too and moved closer to John.

"Slow down your breathing, John…" he tried.

"Can't… can't breathe…. "

"You're hyperventilating…."

"No shit….. My head knows… my body doesn't…." John panted. He was loosing the color he had gained again.

"You need to calm down." Sherlock tried.

"I… know… that…. Shut … up!"

"You need a bag?"

"NO!…. hyperventilating… is not … dangerous … unless … I pass out…. And … choke.. on… blocked airway."

"You're sure?"

"Of course…. I'm… a bloody … doctor!"

He was getting unnerved… maybe making him angry and discuss with him was a bad kind of diversion Sherlock wondered.

John sat up straight and rested his head back. He started to clench his hands into fists and straighten them out repeatedly…. Tingling sensation starting, side effect from hyperventilating. John was obviously working hard on slowing his breathing, but the effect was minimal.

"If I … pass out.. my body … will….. slow the breathing pattern… automatically….."

"Has that happened before?…"

No answer, but John leaned forward again, gulping repeatedly, now resting his head on his hands, elbows to his knees. He was shaking.

John had told him once that one of the important things in bedside manners and establishing trust in any relationship also was: don't do to anybody what you don't want to be done to yourself….. he had also said that usually the reverse was: do what you'd like others to do to you, but then revised the information because what Sherlock wanted would absolutely no way be what usual people wanted. So Sherlock had added a new mental database in which he stored possible needs of his own and what could be good for him (this alone was difficult at last because it required to realize a need was there) and the adequate needs other people would have when confronted with the same needs. But there were almost no information, yet… so mimic what John did, cause he would do to others what he would like to be done to him? Right….?

"I'm gonna touch you." He warned… because this was in fact a need he had, to be warned of touch - except from John… at least not any longer. He reached for John's face still buried in his hands and sneaked his fingers to John's forehead and partly over his eyes…. just resting his hand there… John's face was clammy. He returned his other hand to rest on John's back. John blew out his breath slow and through his mouth…. And gulped again.

"Eh.. Sherlock…. "

"Your gonna be sick?" Sherlock asked.

"No…" only a whisper.

"What is it…"

John pressed his hand over Sherlock's gently, keeping his hand trapped under both of his, cramping to his hands.

"John?" While Sherlock still tried to figure out what the problem was he felt a rush of heat under his fingers.

"John?.. what's happening?" the next moment John sagged forward, his whole body, not only his head…. Sherlock was perplexed and barely managed to keep John from colliding with the front seat, he guided his body sideways….

"John?" …. Passed out from hyperventilating? … no, too soon… for that he'd have to breathe on like that for at least four more minutes…. Stress… John had said his body might switch him off when the stress gets too severe,….

"John?… Don't do this!…" Sherlock begged…. Check his breathing! He lifted John's limb form into a sitting position and lifted his head against the headrest, then again holding his forehead to prevent him from falling back. He was breathing.. shallow but otherwise ok. He felt for his pulse, fast but not weak.

The door opened and Sherlock jerked slightly in surprise. Lestrade sat down in the driver's seat and turned around to them.

"What happened?"

"I think the …. stress made him… pass out?"

"That happened before?"

"Haven't seen it. Though he hinted that it might be possible…. "

"Yeah, most likely he'd hide from you before getting this far. Maybe we should bring him to a hospital after all." Lestrade started the engine.

"No."

"Why are you so sure about that?"

"Because he told me what might be good and what not. Safe environment: good, embarrassment: bad."

"I don't believe this…" Lestrade muttered.

"What?" Sherlock was getting stressed by the minute himself he realized.

"You have started to care?… Now when did that happen?"

"Shut up….. I try to think here." He needed to concentrate on other things than teasing or getting insulted right now.

"And what about would that be?" Lestrade wanted to know, sounding puzzled.

"He needs safe … and good ….things… and comforting."

"God, you really mean business…?"

"Shut up!" Sherlock closed his eyes to block out irritating input. What did John usually do when he tried to comfort him? Stupid… he usually had blocked John's tries to comfort him… and John had left him alone after being send away or insulted for his care…. Though John had comforted him, he tried to remember.

Non-invasive touch: caring, head, not to gentle, firm, steadying… check, already doing that, continue. Talking: low, soothing, turquoise in shade, mind-busying.. check, doing that, keeping it up when awareness returns.

Positive stimuli: taste, sounds, textures, smells, … check, partially done, continue at home… hmm, textures…. Set mental reminder to provide comfort clothes and ..?…. keep this thread for later use. …find place to deposit activator: floor of the flat in front of entrance door, add copy to action: 'removing my coat'…..

Create safe environment: change in the flat as soon as home: change the mood of light to safe/warm/bright, keep temperature nice, make tea, find soothing music.. ehh, all not satisfying…

Comforting: further search - related thoughts: no information given by John (didn't know himself, Quote: 'Being able to receiving care depends on the person trying to give')… he had to find his own comforting-John mechanisms. Slippery topic, to much to ruin-area….

"Sherlock!" Lestrade almost yelled.

"What is it?" Sherlock sounded distracted, ripped out of his concentration.

"He's coming to, I guess….."

Lestrade was right, Sherlock was still holding John upright, one hand at his forehead, he was tense and hadn't dared to move… he was still unbuckled, as was John… and sitting in a 90° angle next to John… Probably because London's streets were so clogged today they hadn't moved faster than 25 km/h….. not really Lestrade not insisting…. Things were off…. And it was raining cats and dogs. John gently stirred and tried to lift his head. Sherlock pulled back his hand.

"ETA?"

"Four to five minutes… no, more like ten today I guess.." Lestrade sighted when stopping again.

"John?"

His eyes opened, unfocussed, disoriented.

"The rain is really … loud in here…." Sherlock tried to provide a focus before John had time to focus on his panic. "I am gonna light the fireplace as soon as we get home. Want some Chinese takeout tonight, John?" John's eyes fixed on him and the very moment he saw memory returning to John's eyes he rested his hand on the sleeve of John's lower arm. John's eyes followed his hand and stayed there for a moment. Sherlock could see his vision was blurry. When his eyes came up again the emotions passing John's eyes were clearly visible…. Embarrassment replaced the last hint of panic, but was soon replaced by… sheer exhaustion and…. ? surprise? Did he remember what had happened? How much? … and what Sherlock had tried? Was it not good? Had he been overstepping a line? ….

John must have seen the questions in his face because he minutely shook his head. "Not now, please…."

"Lestrade, would you like to come for a beer in the evening?" Ok, give him privacy and try to make smalltalk. He could feel Lestrade frown…. He knew it would seem to be tactless but Lestrade only needed about seven seconds to understand why he wasn't talking about the case, the explosion or what had happened."

"I don't know, yet… I'll send you a text… maybe I'll bring the takeout in case you want to wait… I'll be in contact." The car stopped and Sherlock realized they were home.

"Ok, let's get upstairs, where it is dry and warm."

Lestrade helped them out of the car and Sherlock realized there was no way John could get up the stairs without help, he was shaky and without ceremony he lifted John's arm over his head and helped him inside. Lestrade nodded a goodbye and was on his way back to the scene.

John tried to head for his bedroom but Sherlock stirred him towards the sofa, stepping over the mental activator that reminded him to take care of …. _providing comforting textures and fabrics_. He helped him out of the coat and pushed John to sit down …. Mental note: check for injuries, therefore be present when changing… get sweat pants and jumper… John was so exhausted now he didn't resist…. Sherlock told him to stay were he was while filling the kettle and hurry to John's room and fetch dry clothes. John hadn't moved when he came back, his gaze lazily moving through the room.

"I want you to put those on." He handed him the pants.

"Here?"

"Yeah, I need to check you for injuries. Do you hurt somewhere?"

"I'm fine."

"As a physician you should be well aware that in your current state you are not capable of saying that for sure. I want to see."

"Oh, come on, you don't want me to …." He looked him in the eyes, unnerved… "… Yeah, you do…." He shook his head. Without further delay Sherlock started untying his shoelaces.

"Sherlock!"

"John, this will be a lot faster if you stop resisting…."

"Says the king of denial and resistance of any care!"

Sherlock removed the shoes and then tried to open John's shirt collar further. John batted his hands away. His movements were a bit stiff Sherlock observed.

"Go light the fire, I can do this myself." He grumbled….but stood up, got into the soft jersey pants and started to open the shirt sleeves. Good tactic?! Go ahead so far that he does the lesser things you actually wanted by himself…. Sherlock turned towards the fireplace and lit the wood he had just pile there.

Some Minutes later he turned and watched John removing his shirt from a distance. John rolled his eyes unnerved but continued. He let the dark shirt fall to the sofa.

"Satisfied?" and started to unfold the jumper…. Sherlock stepped nearer.

"To be honest: No."

"What?"

"Sit down, John."

"What?… Why?…" he started to pull the jumper over his head. Sherlock reached for his hands and stilled them in the air, then took the jumper away and pushed John towards the sofa.

"Oh, come on… " John sounded angry.

"You are bleeding, John." He inspected the small wound. A piece of glass was still in it, but it didn't seem to be big and the wound probably wouldn't even need stitches. Get first aid kit and keep him sitting… the last might be some work.

"What? Where?" John tried to see what Sherlock was inspecting.

"Middle of the shoulder blade, it's not large but there is still a piece of glass imbedded, it has stopped bleeding already. Stay here."

As soon as Sherlock had risen John followed.

"I want to see."

"Oh, come on, Sherlock…. I am the doctor… I need to see!" he grimaced kind of unnerved.

"I'll bring a mirror." He stood in front of John preventing that he could get up. "You probably won't need stitches….-"

"Oh, thank you Doctor Holmes." John's voice was unbelieving and maybe sarcastic.

"- but I'd be perfectly able to suture it up if needed."

"What? You've done this before? Stitches?"

"Yes."

"On whom? Yourself."

"Amongst others."

"God, Sherlock…. Don't tell me.." he tried to get up and obviously hoped Sherlock would back off when he started to move.

"Stay seated! I need to learn how to take care." There, he had said it….. though if John had paid attention he should have understood this a while ago.

"What?"

"You criticized I didn't want or know how to take care and that I am selfish. … now I need to learn to do so."

John leaned back on the sofa, kind of hit by that insight. He should have registered it before. Sherlock was doing this for weeks at last. A lot of things Sherlock had done in those weeks fell into place suddenly. Those things he had done had been a bit like a kid's tries, a bit blunt and superficial from the outside. John had stopped wondering long ago about most of Sherlock's odd behaviours and had decided just to step back and wait, sooner or later he would somehow understand or be told what it was about. That was what happened right now, behaviours making sense suddenly.

"I…." John seemed to be a bit speechless, his eyes wide in surprise.

"Please assist me in learning."

John's eyes widened even more. He knew Sherlock was not as emotionless as he wanted the world to believe. He had known Sherlock cared about him in his own way, but this was…. He couldn't decide between laughing and unbelieving resistance.

"If you are making fun of me or this is just one of your experiments I swear…."

Sherlock looked a bit as if wanting to drew back.

"I need to take a look at that, and get the glass out… will you allow me taking care of that?"

"Ok, Ok… but bring a mirror, please, I at least want to see it."

Sherlock turned away and came back a few seconds later with a bowl of water, some napkins and the first aid kit.

"We need to remove the vest." Sherlock ordered while unpacking the kit, then helping a kind of desperate looking John out of the undergarment.

"Great, even more glad none saw this one."

"Well. Hopefully none but Mycroft." Sherlock said dryly.

"What?" John looked at him in alarm.

"That… was … a joke." He sat down in front of John.

"Oh, hell…. " John now sounded oddly desperate.

Sherlock's gaze went to a discolouration on the front side of John's shoulder…. The scar where John had been shot. Sherlock had not seen it from close proximity before. It was still kind of violet and the size indicated the bullet had entered from the front. He looked closer.

"Please don't start looking for your magnifier." John's tone was not angry, just tired.

"I might need it later to look for pieces of glass." Sherlock informed, aware that he had just stared at the cicatrize.

"Ok, let's get this over with, it's embarrassing enough."

"Why is it embarrassing?"

John just sighted and laid down with his back to Sherlock. Accepting help and entrusting Sherlock with this.

Now the exit wound was clearly visible. Sherlock sucked in air in surprise. It was a lot bigger and looked nasty. It must have hurt a lot…. In fact it looked as if it might still hurt.

"What's wrong?" John sat up alarmed.

"Nothing.."

John turned around to look at his face… and saw appealed raw empathy on Sherlock's face. At first he wondered if the wound was a lot bigger than he thought but then he remembered - the second scar.

Heavy silence settled. Sherlock realized how close he had come to loose John before he had even known him… on the other hand, if he hadn't been wounded they would probably never have met. The minute things that changed everything in the fabric of reality and how big so little things like the path of a bullet was on everything grabbed him and he was lost for a few seconds in the realization how complex reality was… sometimes the craziness of existence left him feel lost and displaced… this was one of those moments. They produced a shadow of feeling lost in space and the question what existence was at all. His consciousness failed to grasp it and the feeling of loneliness made time stretch uncomfortably.

"Sherlock?….." John must have already addressed him before according to his slightly worried tone. Sherlock fought back to reality and gulped. He didn't like these awkward moments of feeling reality slip away.

"Yes?"

"Come on. Get that glass out. I am tired."

"Ok. Turn around."

John did as told and rested his head on the armrest. Sherlock took the tweezers and wiped them with alcohol, he did the same with his fingers. The smell bit his nostrils…. Remove the input, irrelevant right now… back to the task at hand. He placed a folded napkin on John's back to rest his hand on in order to keep it still, then started trying to pull the small thing gently. John hissed.

"You know good bedside manners would include informing the patient of what you are doing." He told Sherlock in a slightly unnerved tone.

"Well, I wasn't sure, because someone said expecting pain might add to the perception of it's intensity, so I thought it might be better to just do it."

"Well, this is true, but causing a patient unexpected pain might destroy trust… and the patient starts to be on alert as soon as the treating party enters the room, consciously our unconsciously. So tell him what is happening and maybe even how much pain is to expect adds to trust indirectly…."

"I will remember it next time." Sherlock informed and pulled the thing free. It was half a centimeter in diameter and had left a cut that was short and superficial but now bleeding again.

"I took the glass out, I'm gonna let that bleed for a minute and then look if it's clean."

"Sounds good." John sounded tired.

Sherlock's gaze once more shifted to the scar. He didn't knew why this affected him… seeing it…. Deep in thoughts he carefully probed it by stroking his left thumb over it. It felt a bit calloused. John tensed but remained unmoving.

"Sorry…" Sherlock jerked back his hand, not sure if he had just stepped a line.

"It's o.k.… but please… don't ask now…."

"I…" John was right, he had loads of questions, but… he would save them for later. "I'm gonna clean the wound now, that might be … uncomfortable." He warned this time. He gently cleansed the dried and fresh red away and swapped the area generously with iodine. John didn't even make a noise.

"Pull the ends together slightly when applying the adhesive tape, please." John sounded half asleep.

"Yes, doctor."

Sherlock bandaged the small incision in detail. Taking his time to detour to observe how it felt to him touching John and relieved found out it was neutral. He hoped it was the same for John… well, he had relaxed more and more during the past minutes…

And then John let out slightly snoring noises…. He had fallen asleep? Sherlock raised his eyebrows… How could he fall asleep in the middle of… this?… Sherlock realized that just because he could never have let go enough in such a situation didn't mean John couldn't… and … well, John must have felt save enough to let go with Sherlock's administrations… Sherlock would only be able to sleep in the presence of people he really really trusts…. So this might be a prove of confidence… this was good.

He took the blanket and spread it over the sleeping doctor, then cleaned up the medical stuff and settled down in his comforter by the fire.

Some hours later Sherlock still sat there with his laptop on his knees when John stirred.

Sherlock stood up and went over to sit on the chair still next to the sofa.

...

* * *

...

John woke up to dim light and with a blanket over him, he was on the sofa, and he felt he had not bothered to put on a shirt or anything at all before falling asleep…. Then the events of the day returned to him and he turned around. He looked directly at Sherlock who sat next to him on a chair, just looking at him.

"You weren't making fun of me…. "

Sherlock pressed his lips into a slim line and John realized what had happened during the past hours… or at least what he remembered of them. … and it made him realize this was not a joke… it was even pretty good trying to work this out. Sherlock had done things he had never thought possible when he came out of his flashback. Sherlock had honestly gone through a lot of trouble to help him. As with all things he does he had done it in-depth and in detail. He had analyzed, tested, and tried things in order to find the best way of dealing with it… Sherlock was doing this in earnest! John's mouth opened and he looked up to Sherlock who had obviously just waited for anything to happen, maybe with a slightly worried expression… worried? ..Sherlock?

"You are not joking, I got it. I see your need to improve your social skills, and I approve that you try to, but I can't guarantee you I always have the patience to discuss things when I feel bad."

"Since it would be of need for me to also learn to recognize such a situation and react properly … that would also be a lecture in this field… I guess."

"Uh, Sherlock…." This was between awkward and admirable. "You can't handle this like writing a computer program… it is not!"

"Not for you, I know, but for me. This is the only way I learn about emotional things. I need to store data before I can start to try to translate the information into my own way of how things feel. I can't translate without defining parameters."

"Parameters? What parameters?… What is the scale?"

"You."

"Me?… You lost me."

"Though I probably don't feel like you I can file your feelings and their appearance and act upon your set of rules from your mindset's perspective. It's almost like every other information. I save them in a …. mental database, I process und I compare your descriptions to mine …. and that's what's difficult: usually other people's descriptions are just to superficial and abstract and I lack the necessary information to make a reliable connection… or other people just feel different… or they just are unable to describe them properly. I am not sure… but … this does not mean I am unable to care, though I have to admit I am pretty much out of practise… because I didn't wanted to before…."

"Uh, Sherlock…" John was speechless again. The essence of what Sherlock had just said hitting him with full force. This was… an utterance of… affection in a platonical way… in fact all Sherlock had done today was. He cared… and he cared a lot, John realized. Sherlock had just given him something he hadn't thought was possible. This was more than just an offering of friendship.. More like adoption of a brother… well, maybe not in the sense Sherlock knew brotherhood with Mycroft, but their relationship was already close to what John considered brotherhood. … but this was progression…. in the sense of … soulmates?

He already had understood Sherlock didn't sort things into mine and yours…. John had had problems with that before, especially when Sherlock took his laptop or other things he considered private. But Sherlock lived with the implicitness that everything he had was free for John to access and use… even his credit card. Opening up seemed to be an all-or-nothing-thing with Sherlock…. Maybe it was the same with his feelings. Was this also a factor why he was working so hard to get John's trust back?

"Sherlock… " this was not easy for him but he was sure Sherlock needed feedback because this day must have been like learning to swim. "I had a really rough day today and…. One of the worst flashbacks I ever had…. but as hard as it was… you… you made it ….better…. You softened my fall immensely. I don't even want to think about how bad I would feel right now if anyone would have carted me to a hospital… it felt…. You did good… I mean.. it felt horrible but you were a … safety net…. Kind of…"

Sherlock looked up into his eyes, obviously trying to gather more information to be sure what John meant, he also looked a bit unsure of what to say.

"I need your trust, I guess…. because not-trusting is a disturbance, an contamination of our gathering and interaction. I don't like it."

Yeah, this was Sherlock… answering his try to say thank you with a unemotional and technical description of his innermost intimate emotions in a way that was astounding intense and beautifully pure.

He smiled, the intensity of the moment making him speechless for a moment.

"Thank you, Sherlock. This helped…." He smiled carefully.

Sherlock looked at him for a moment, his face neutral, then stood up. "You want some tea before going to bed?"

"Actually… yes… and some telly?"

Sherlock not reacting or having the last line… this must have hit a spot… but at least a positive one.

The moment when Sherlock had touched the scar left him a bit lost about what might have happened in Sherlock's mind. But he realized it was like a kid's probing, the need to know what it feels like. He seemed affected by the sight of it. John had sensed it was an important moment and granted him to examine and touch it. It felt a bit like going through old pictures together, letting him participate in his history. He was sure some day he would know what happened in those minutes.

Presumably it would take some time until Sherlock had processed all the things of this day and until then there would be no obivious reaction. He would ask tiny questions in moments that weren't related for a normal person but had brought up the theme for him. And he would collect more delicate pieces of data in a way even more subtle and without attraction, none noticing. It would be best not to disturb the development in progress and just wait.

…

* * *

...

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